Dan
by Topaz Fox
Summary: Miss Danvers as you've never imagined her. Betty and rock 'n roll and lesbians, oh my!


(Heeeeeey bitches! Topaz here. I apologize in advance for this crackhead fic. It's my sister's fault. She and I were talking about a fic I was going to write...and somehow it turned into this. No, it's not a oneshot. Yes, it will continue. And yes, there will be lesbians. Ooooh! Read, review and enjoy!)

(**Disclaimer**: Bully's not mine blah blah.)

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Miss Danvers parallel parked her car along the filthy New Coventry street and cut the ignition. She sat, silent, in her car for minutes after she turned it off, staring down at the clean, sensible shoes on her prim stockinged feet. _I don't need him. _But now that he was gone…getting married to some other whore, some younger, even more subservient woman…the former Bullworth Academy secretary had no idea what to do with herself. She had no job and no man. For years, those two things were the only things in her life that kept her waking up day after day.

She glanced through the windshield at the world outside the quiet bubble of her car. All she could see was dirt: grimy asphalt, beat-up cars, dirty greaser boys kicking around old cans and harassing every young grungy girl who walked by. All of it was so…slovenly. A nightmare.

Her whole life, she had been terrified of getting dirty. Well, almost.

When she was very young, she had been a troublemaker. Her mother and father had a terrible time trying to corral her into doing things she was "supposed to do". Naturally, this rebelliousness as a child led to even more explosive rebelliousness as a young teen. Her parents got tired of trying to keep her under control. By age thirteen she was an infamous partier, mingling with thugs and having sex with washed-up rock musicians. She was completely shameless and cared about nothing…until that night she saw the corpse under the bridge.

She remembered it very clearly: She had been stumbling home drunkenly in the early hours of the morning. The sun was barely beginning to rise. As she passed under a bridge, she smelled something unusual and foul…and a moment after the scent hit her, she saw the lifeless body of a homeless man. He was crusted - head to toe - in filth. One hand clenched a bottle of bourbon, and his shriveled mouth was open, showing every blackened tooth.

Something about seeing the body changed her. She was suddenly terrified of disorder and, above all, dirt.

That same fear of dirt stayed with her from then on, and eventually led to a hatred of mess and chaos, which, of course, made her a perfect candidate for an authoritarian figure at a high school. She had picked Bullworth so many years ago to try and challenge herself. She had fit in much more easily than she had expected. And then she had met him…

And now…all that was gone.

Miss Danvers looked at the store on her left. She bit her lip. _It's time to not be so afraid of getting dirty, I think._ What did she have to lose, anyway? She was a grown woman now, not a little girl.

She gave herself no chance to second guess what she was about to do. She got out of the car - taking extra care to lock it, given her surroundings - hugged her little handbag close to her, and walked hurriedly towards The Final Cut.

As soon as she stepped through the door, she was hit with a kind of fearful awe. The paint on the walls was peeling in most spots, the floor was covered in a hardened black slime, and several aluminum racks of old secondhand clothing were shoved up against the back wall next to a dilapidated barber's chair. _It's even dirtier in here than it was outside! Christ… _She clutched at her purse.

A scrappy-looking salesgirl glanced up from her seat at a battered counter. "Hey there!" she said in a surprisingly husky voice, putting her magazine down. "Don't see your type around here often. What can I do you for?"

Miss Danvers froze. "Uh…" _Say something. Idiot. She's not so tough! You're much more intimidating! Have you seen how those kids look at you? _She looked the blue-haired clerk square in the eyes and gave her a tight, guarded smile. "Yes. I heard you do hair here?"

The girl nodded. "Sure do. Whatcha need? A trim? A blowout?"

Miss Danvers touched her helmet-like coif, quiet for a moment. From some place outside of her own body, she heard herself say, "I want you to shave all of it off."

The salesgirl's pierced eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?" She looked amused. "Are you sure you want me to do that?"

_No._ "…Yes."

Strangely, the girl smiled knowingly, as if stuffy, graying middle-aged secretaries came in here all the time with the intention of suddenly becoming bald. She gave Miss Danvers a one-over with one eyebrow cocked. "All right, Ms…?"

"Miss Danvers."

"Danvers, all right. Ok if I call you Dan?"

_Absolutely not. Nicknames based on surnames are for hoodlums and people who never mentally matured past high school. _And yet… "Dan" offered another smile, this one significantly less guarded. "I suppose so." Then, because it seemed polite, and because maybe she was a little bit interested: "What's your name?"

"Betty. Nice to meet you, Dan." Betty grinned amiably and gestured toward the awaiting barber's nook. "What do you say," she purred, "we get this show on the road?"

Thirty-five minutes later, Miss Danvers, the frigid secretary at Bullworth Academy, the notorious bitch, the do-gooder, the one in the stiff starched skirt suit, the busy little bee, the absolute neat freak, the idiot Dr. Crabblesnitch had been fucking and using longer than anyone could remember, had become:

Dan, her graying hair shorn to a thin velvety stubble spread over her skull, her slim form stripped of all office clothes and, thanks to Betty, freshly outfitted in a black secondhand shift dress and short black boots, trying to get used to having a nickname, trying not to think of what people would say now when they saw her around town, trying not to worry about what was going to happen next or about the crust of mud on the soles of her new old shoes. And she was her own person.

She was fighting the voice inside of her that told her to fear chaos all these years. She was _becoming _a little part of the chaos once again.

And so far, it didn't feel bad.


End file.
